


Intensity

by 24tigers



Category: The Hunger Games
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/24tigers/pseuds/24tigers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Explicit One Shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intensity

Special thanks to bleedtoloveher for beta/editing work.

 

 

Madge Undersee has amazing fucking hands.

I keep staring at them as she leans back in her seat, extending her arms out over her head, giving me a glimpse of those perfectly manicured nails. Her palms are plump and smooth while the other side has rounded, rough knuckles. I get a sense that those hands are strong, too. You can tell by the way the veins move about as she flexes, extends, adducts.

I imagine this is the shit you don’t think about as a guy. Why would you?

Fingers actually may be the most fascinating of all body parts. How uniquely designed they are, used to ascertain, explore and examine. The tips have the second most sensitive touch receptors in our entire body. They feel almost everything with great intensity.

It’s too much to think about. A pianists lengthy, strong fingers, flawlessly built and probably move effortlessly. 

On me. 

In me.

I shudder at the thought.

Up and down she taps her pencil against the top of the desk in boredom. Her leg shakes nervously, springing up and down fervently. Fucking christ, between that and her hands, she’s making me antsy as hell.

I can’t handle this shit. Not when she’s wearing that white dress, I can’t. Her hair is down, blonde waves showering down her back. Long, creamy white legs are visible and within an arms reach, still bouncing restlessly. The constant friction from her movements has created muffled, constant sounds in a near silent classroom.

Finally, I reach forward from the desk behind her and grab a hold of her knee firmly, stilling it. She jumps from the unexpected touch at first, but quickly realizes my reasoning and blushes furiously.

“You’re driving me fucking crazy,” I whisper, attempting to keep quiet. Of course, I let my hand linger as long as possible without it being weird. Well, mildly weird is probably the better choice of phrases.

“Sorry Jo,” Madge whispers, flashing me her perfectly whitened teeth as she gives me an apologetic expression. She’s way too nice for her own damn good.

“Just...drink less coffee or something,” I order. A smile creeps across her face from my comment and I get those blazing eyes. Like crystals. Can that even fucking happen? Seriously. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible for eyes to look like that. They keep shimmering in the most precious way, changing colors based upon the reflection of light.

Fucking A. She’s gotta stop doing this shit. It’s messing with my head. Making me...feel. I’m not used to it. I’m not sure I want to get used to it.

Not to mention the girl is dating the captain of the football team.

Not that there is anything wrong with Gale Hawthorne. I mean, the dude is built as hell, attractive to those who like cock. Even seems like he isn’t a total asshole, which is great for Madge, but quite frankly, sucks for me.

Whatever. Eventually I’ll get over it.

__________________

 

I fucking hate gym.

Well, school in general really, but this bullshit course should not be a graduation requirement, especially if swimming is at the top of their priorities. Large bodies of water and I are not friends. I nearly drowned the first time I attempted it and well, I’m not interested in seeing if the second time is a charm.

It’s obvious what they’re trying to do. Attempt to make us all worldly and shit, that way when we leave this dump we can be the “best possible versions of ourselves.” Here’s the thing though: I can promise that after I get the fuck out of here, I will never set foot in a pool again. Actually, I’m pretty positive I will spend the rest of my life avoiding one at all costs. 

I sit, watching everyone else in their bathing suits line up. It’s my the third day in a row taking a zero, and I still don’t give a fuck. I’m perfectly comfortable with my legs folded in the chair, hood over my head and headphones in my ears.

That is, until Madge comes up to me in her one piece bathing suit, completely sticking to her wet body. She plops down next to me with a towel in her hand. Steady drips fall from the hair clinging to her face.

I don’t get her. Why does she always try to have pointless conversations with me? Doesn’t she have some kind of barbie friend to hang out with? I’m the chick with spiked hair and converse shoes that cusses too much and is generally unpleasant to be around. I have no problem pretending other people don’t exist, either.

“You should dress. I can teach you, you know,” she offers.

“Hell no,” I fire back immediately.

“Jo, you can’t fail gym and still graduate,” she says.

“Because we all know how much I give a fuck,” I snark with sarcasm. She needs to get off my back. I don’t need a mommy.

“Well, you should care. I care,” she murmurs shyly, her eyes staring down at her feet. She does this whole genuinely considerate thing, and, well...it’s adorable every fucking time.

God dammit.

“Look brainless: worry about you and I’ll worry about me.” 

Immediately after I say it, I know I probably should’ve worded it differently. She’s giving me that hurt expression and I can’t take it. It’s making me feel...well, guilty, I guess you would call it?. These feelings are all new for me, so I’m still trying to define them.

“I guess I can be brainless sometimes,” she says jokingly, though somehow I know I’ve bruised her. I tend to do that - leave marks, fuck with people’s heads. It’s easier not to give a shit about anyone. 

Madge stares down at her toes, rubbing them silently, busying herself, I guess. Mostly, I think she’s just waiting for me to say something. I probably should say I’m sorry and that I didn’t mean to make her feel inadequate -- but, come on; it’s not like I really think she’s brainless. She just needs to stop being so damn sensitive. 

I can feel those large eyes looking up at me as I watch her neck, the way it moves under her steady breathing. Something hits me all the sudden, and I notice it; something I had felt once previously, only now it’s coming in a less subtle manner. I can only describe it as a pulling sensation taking control of my upper body. It reminds me of tidal waves, traveling down to the pit of my stomach and reaching, grasping a hold of my lungs. Somehow I know it’s more than lust yet weaker than love.

In the midst of all this she starts jabbering, talking about shit that doesn’t even matter, acting as though we’re bunk buddies or some crap. I want to scream at her to get the fuck away from me, to save herself the misery of trying to be my friend, but I can’t. With all this stuff going on...well, it’s fucking with me. I blame it on the fact that I can’t properly function.

“Just let me know if you need my help, I guess,” she offers one more time before walking back to a circle of girls - her real friends that all have expensive cars, jock boyfriends and hollister sweatpants with stupid shit written across the ass-cheeks.

Ugh.  
_____

 

“You,” he says pointing directly at me. I’m propped up in my normal chair, hood covering my face with my feet under my legs. I have the sound blaring on my ipod to block him out, but it’s no use. He’s curling his finger at me and pointing to his office.

Mr. Abernathy’s office is a fucking dump. There are papers everywhere, empty boxes on the floor, books scattered about. His hand comes out, offering me a seat down on the opposite side of his desk. Even from here, I can smell the staleness of the booze practically seeping through his pores. I chuckle as props his left leg over the right and leans back in his chair, staring daggers at me like he’s some kind of bad ass.

“Look, sweetheart, you gotta dress. You’ve got to do something. That’s not how it works. It’s gym class. All points are participation. Got it?”

“Yep,” I mutter in a bored matter. It’s not the first time I’ve heard this shit, won’t be the last.

He sighs before speaking again. “Kid, you don’t have to try out for the Olympics. Just get in the water, get out and you’re done.”

“Sure. Whatever. We done?” I’m looking him directly in the eyes, giving my best “I don’t give a fuck” face that I can possibly conjure up.

“Not until you suit up and get your ass in the water, we aren’t,” he says, staring back icily.

“I’ll get in the water when you’re sober enough to pull me out. Until then, you can go fuck yourself.”

____

Getting suspended is not punishment -- it’s a reward.

With all my free time I get to walk around in the woods, kicking leaves and smelling the chilly air as it sweeps across my face. It’s perfect weather, really. The brittle trees that are leave-less look mundane and it makes me wish I had my axe. I could cut them down and live off the firewood for days.

I take a deep breath in and think about how this is my favorite way to waste time. It centers me, takes me to a better place.

I start to get that lingering smell of rain, so I head back home. The sky goes from clear to grey in a matter of minutes. Just as my front porch comes into view, I see Madge sitting on the step with a stack of books in hand, glasses sitting at the edge of her nose. Light drips begin to trickle from above us as the sky gradually gets darker and darker.

She stands nervously once I come to a close distance.

“What are you doing here?” I ask curiously. It’s cold enough now that my breath has created a light fog. She is well prepared, covered in a puffy white coat and pink knit hat over her ears. It reminds me of little girls at the grocery store in the winter, sitting in the front of the cart with their mothers. How or why I find this to be adorable makes no fucking sense. I wish I could say I think she is vain and stupid and unattractive like every other girl I’ve ever met, but she isn’t. She’s far too sweet to ever be these things...

“I brought your homework...”

I know I’m probably staring blankly, mainly because I’ve never done homework a day in my fucking life. Whatever would compel Madge to bring me a giant stack of books I’ll never read is beyond me.

“Okay?” I ask quite confused.

“Aren’t you supposed to be suspended?” She inquires confoundedly, pointing down at the books.

“Boy, news travels fast in that dump,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day someone tells Mr. Abernathy to go fuck himself.”

“That guy is a dick.”

Madge laughs shyly, which makes me smile, and in turn leaves her blushing furiously.

“Anyway, I didn’t want you to get behind. I went to the office and they gave me your schedule, so here it all is.” She dumps the pile of folders and books into my arms, nearly knocking me over. 

Her voice gets shaky all the sudden. “Just let me know if you need anything else,” she says, starting to walk away. My heart begins to sink at the thought of her leaving, so I react without thinking.

“Wait!”

What the fuck am I doing?

“I uh, was just about to uh...” I desperately try to think of some kind of stupid, inconsequential task that a fucking five year old can do. “Make some hot chocolate? Do you want some?” Do I even have hot chocolate? The hell if I know.

Madge nods her head at me and follows me through the front door.

My place is a pit. My dad is hardly ever home and my mom isn’t around. I’m usually here by myself and don’t entertain, so what’s the point in upkeep?

I watch as she pulls of her coat in the living room. She’s wearing one of my favorite shirts - a blue short sleeve that falls off in certain areas yet clings to all the right places. At the moment, it’s revealing her shoulder and leaving me unable to concentrate on just about anything else.

I go into the kitchen and search the cupboards for this hot chocolate bullshit. Come the fuck on. I couldn’t think of anything else? I get a negative one in the creativity department.

When I come back she’s sitting with her back against the cushion, waiting patiently. A heavy silence stills the room. Normally, she’s the one always starting the conversation, so I just wait.

She just starts chuckling out of nowhere.

“What?” I ask, slightly irritable.

“That picture.” 

She’s pointing to a picture hanging on the wall. It’s of me at about the age of seven, in a dress with bows in my hair.

“The first and only time you will ever see me in a dress,” I tell her.

“That may be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

“What the fuck ever.” I say it like I’m pissed, but I’m not. Truth be told, normally, I would cringe at someone calling me adorable. For whatever reason, when she says it, it doesn’t bother me.

Her leg brushes up against my hand near the edge of the sofa, making all the blood in my body rush to my head. I swallow the gulp in my throat tensely, glad there is a light chill in this room. It’s keeping me a little more alert.

Madge rolls her eyes and moves herself to face me better. “You know, you’re not as mean as you like to think you are.” 

I try not to stare down as her outer thigh, which is now resting against my hand. She isn’t moving and I’m not going to say a word. She’s too warm and my heart is beating way too fast. 

She is not coming on to me. I need to calm the fuck down.

Damn these feelings. 

I mutter the first condescending thing I can think of. Anything to break this silence in the air as the denim from her jeans rubs against my skin. 

“And you know this how?”

“I just --”

I hear the water in the kitchen begin to boil over and abruptly and go check on the situation. She follows me into the kitchen, close behind me.

“Need help?” Madge inquires, leaning over my shoulder to see what I’m doing. Her breasts rub up against my backside in the process.

That is not unintentional. 

My heartbeat speeds immensely.

Her breath lingers on the back of my neck as she doesn’t move away. A surge of warmth flushes between my legs and pools in my belly. She is so close and all I can smell is the cool, slightly sour scent coming from her mouth.

She’s probably going to kiss me. The pounding of my heart thrums in my ears as I eagerly wait the inevitable. There’s something about touching lips with someone for the first time that is incredible. You can tell so much just by the way they kiss. Do they push you up against the wall, hard? Is it slow and gentle? Most of the time, it’s a great indication of the type of lover they’ll be.

I turn my head to the side as she presses her lips against mine inquisitively. The angle isn’t great, but the newness is exciting, refreshing, all the while leaving tingles down my spine. She’s just as soft as I imagined her to be. The sloppiness at first is mainly due to the speed in which I’m moving my lips, however it doesn’t take me long to adapt to the slow pace and light force in which Madge prefers. Her tongue sweeps through my mouth sparingly and is used only in a subtle manner that I find completely erotic. Perhaps it’s the gentleness that I find the most appealing; it lacks that rushed, pressured demeanor. Everything is just fluid. Easy.

I turn around and bring my hands over her hips. My lower back is digging against the edge of the counter as she leans her weight against me, her knee lodged between my legs. I move my lips down the line of her neck, sucking and nipping gently at the crevices as I continue along. Strong fingers dip into my side as I drag my nails softly across her thigh. My lips leave a light scent of my breath on her skin and I can still taste myself when I move back up to suck at the spot under her ear. She sighs and weakly whimpers. 

“Is this okay?” She asks, her breath ragged and now warm against my cheek.

Always so damned concerned.

I pull down the right side of her sleeve, revealing more of her shoulder than before and trace my lips across the skin there. It’s smoother than almost anything I’ve ever felt. Like velvet. 

“I don’t know. Is this okay?” I ask mockingly.

She stares at me wide eyed, looking slightly nervous, but I know she’s curious. I run my fingers across the skin above her breasts, marveling for a moment before leaning my mouth down, pressing my lips there. She tastes slightly salty on my tongue as I run it across her clavicle. I feel a shudder just before pulling fervently pulling her shirt completely over her head.

I’m going to take that as a yes.

It begins to happen quickly and intensely. I can feel her fingers caressing near my belly button, toying with the waistband of my jeans. She unclasps her bra and I watch as it falls to the wayside, leaving room for my fingers roam over the hardened nipples, which are now standing at attention. I bite down at them gently, blowing cold air on the tips. She throws her head back and the escaped whimpers only seem to further ignite my desire.

I’m shocked when she pushes me back, forcing me up on the counter before moving herself between my legs. Every time I fantasized about this in my mind, it wasn’t quite like it is now. I never thought she’d be so bold, so sure of herself, but here we are - my ass propped on the counter as she slides her hands up my thighs and lifts my shirt over my head. She’s confident as ever, nipping at my jaw, leaving a cool trail of kisses over my stomach. Her mouth is back on mine and I quiver from bare heat of her skin as our naked breasts press firmly against one another’s. 

 

The kissing becomes more erratic. Her hands move down to my breasts, where she prods and pulls at the hardened tips. When Madge leans her mouth down on them, inexperience finally creeps through. She bites too hard at first and I wince from the pain, but the lesson is quickly learned when I lean down and take the tip of her nipple in my mouth, and begin to suck using gentle force. She then does the same to me and little bursts of electricity run through me while I buck my hips in pleasure, nearly crying out after two minutes of it.

Madge fumbles with the button to my pants as she plants wet, warm kisses on the side of my neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” she whispers in my ear. 

Homework my ass.

I kick the bunched jeans and underwear from my ankles. There’s something about the way she looks right now - inquisitive, eager, that seems to be unnerving me. But as soon as a warm wetness starts ensuing, everything becomes distorted. I use the flat of my palms to brace myself on the counter, doing my best to stay still so I don’t fall off the edge. My head tilts back as her tongue continues to run up and down me, flickering intermittently at my swollen clit. It’s building fast, and I have to push her away to stop myself from coming.

This isn’t how I want it to end.

I push the place-mats off the kitchen table and force her back flat against the surface. Her pants come off in a matter of seconds, leaving her completely naked. She is breathtaking.

Madge notices my roaming eyes and begins to blush.

“You stop that right fucking now,” I whisper as I lean down and nip under her ear. “You’re gorgeous and you know it.” 

I slide two fingers in her and find that she is so fucking wet. Knowing that she is this turned on is only making me even wetter in the process, and she’s so tight. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anyone this tight around me.

I start slow, and when she begins to loosen I drive deeper, add another finger. My fingers begin to draw upward, pushing firm pressure on that sensitive spot, making her cry out. I keep my speed even, constantly moving, never letting up when I sense her drawing near. And when her legs wrap around me and force my hand even further inside her, digging her heels into my back, it’s fucking amazing. She tilts her head back and I feel the clench and release as she cries out. I leave my hand inside her until I hear her breathing steady and the spasms ends.

And then Madge’s fingers find me, and it’s everything I want it to be - long, steady strokes. They come over and over again until, filling up and running over until everything is a grey, insurmountable moment. Her last reach comes with a level of intensity so far beyond anything that I know it’s at a price. 

I’m heavy and slack against her, brushing a strand of blonde from her sweat laden cheek. Those glossy eyes just keep looking over at me, waiting for me to say something, but she knows better. She is the one who always starts the conversation.

“Well...” She says.

I smirk, not having a snarky comment for once.

“Well,” I reply.


End file.
